The Marquess Who Kissed Me: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “Obedient?”

  Oliver nodded. “Someone who will do what she says, if only so she won’t annoy him.”

  Nick laughed and hopped down. “Well, good luck finding a man like that.” He looked at the tin box again and said, “But maybe the fraternity is a good place to start. What’s their motto? Only the best for the world? You’ll likely find a caring man there and all the members are titled.”

  Though Oliver knew his brother was trying to trap him, he couldn’t see any reason to resist. “All right. I’ll go.”

  “Good.” The tension visibly left Nick.

  Oliver leaned back. “Are you worried about me?”

  “And if I am?”

  “There is no need. I’m fine.”

  Nick pushed out a breath and nodded. “I’ll take my leave.”

  “Kiss that beautiful wife for me.” Oliver winked. Elisa was gorgeous with a mass of red curls that she wore in a style that surrounded her pretty face. Before Nick had married her, Oliver had teased him about wanting the girl for himself.

  “Sleep with one eye open, brother.” Nick gave him one more daggered look before he left.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 4

  * * *

  Belle felt exhausted as she climbed the stairs to Mr. Rose’s home. He was Dunst’s solicitor and conducted his business in his home.

  Though the papers had spread word of their marriage never being legal, she’d still been asked to attend the meeting.

  She’d had a party last evening to celebrate her liberty. While some had thought it in bad taste considering Dunst’s disappearance, no one had refused her invitation. It had not ended until a few hours ago.

  She’d hardly slept.

  “You look tired.” Oliver was climbing the steps just behind her. That he was lower nearly put them at eye level.

  She turned and glared at him. “You’re not supposed to say that to women.”

  “There are no women around. Only you.”

  She pretended to be opening her fan and smacked him with it.

  “Ow!”

  She fluttered the instrument by her face and turned away with a smile.

  Inside, she told the secretary, a woman, why she’d come and went to sit in the drawing-room she’d been directed toward.

  They were early.

  The drawing-room was empty of anyone else, which meant they could speak privately about Dunst. She was actually nervous. Yet before she got to business, she said, “Thank you for coming with me. I don’t know why they want me here. I didn’t actually marry Dunst. They can’t even find the clergy who married us on anyone’s records.”

  “I’ll stay close.” Oliver had dark circles under his eyes, which made his blue irises more prominent.

  She sat on the couch. “You’re the one who looks tired.”

  He fell into the seat beside her. “You’re not supposed to say that. Now, I’ll cry forever and die thinking myself the most unattractive person in London.”

  Her lips twitched. “I didn’t say all that. I didn’t even imply that.”

  “Don’t look at me. I wouldn’t want you to hurt your eyes.”

  She laughed and then bit it back. “Oliver, stop.”

  “Good thing I’m seated. If I faint, I won’t have far to fall.” Then he started to fall.

  On her.

  She chuckled as he fell onto her shoulder and then into her arms before settling on her lap. “What are you doing?” He was the silliest man she knew.

  His eyes were closed. He didn’t answer.

  She wasn’t sure if they were still playing a game or if he was trying to fall asleep, but she decided to remain quiet and see what he would do.

  He didn’t move, and she felt him relax on her lap.

  She wrapped her other arm around him and looked down at his face.

  And seemingly from nowhere, a panic grew within her. She often had such attacks. They’d been gone for years, but since Dunst, they’d returned. She could never pinpoint why she felt extremely nervous, but she did.

  She held Oliver closer.

  He opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  He cupped the neck of her head and slowly brought her down toward his chest. “Sleep.”

  “I can’t like this.” She tried to sit up, but his hand held her down and for some reason, that made her laugh. “Oliver, stop it.”

  “You’re tired.” He removed his hand. “Just close your eyes for a minute. We’re early. I’ll listen for anyone who comes.”

  She placed both her arms across his chest and settled her head over them. She stared at him. “This is a bad idea.” The elevated position was more comfortable, but she doubted she’d sleep. “How are you going to listen for anyone if you’re asleep?”

  He closed his eyes once more. “I’m an assassin. No one sneaks up on me.”

  She scoffed and then lowered her lids.

  When she opened them again, the air was warmer. The sun warmed her back. There were voices far away. She sat up and gasped. She looked for a clock and realized she’d been asleep for hours in Mr. Rose’s drawing-room.

  She looked down. Oliver was still sleeping.

  Thankfully, the door to the drawing-room was closed. Had anyone seen them?

  “Oliver,” she whispered harshly. “Wake up.”

  He opened his eyes. “Calm down.”

  “I missed my meeting.”

  “You can reschedule.” He seemed completely unbothered. He didn’t move.

  The sunlight from the window rested on his face. She slowed her breathing. His scent was like walking into an old memory. Everything came back to her.

  She remembered the first time she’d seen Lady Venmont’s room. It was the only room on the estate with any color. He’d said his mother had insisted on it. The rest of the house was void of anything lively.

  The walls had thousands of little yellow hibiscus with their pale green leaves stitched into the fabric that covered it.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  She was smiling. “The day we met. I was afraid of you, you know. I’d never met anyone as large as you before.” She still hadn’t.

  “Is that so?” He grunted. “Perhaps, I should start skipping meals.”

  She giggled. “You know what I mean.”

  Gregory’s men had drugged her and left her on the edge of his property. The forest had seemed so dense and so foreign that she’d almost thought herself in another country.

  Oliver had found her not long later. His dog Elder led him to her.

  He’d been a mountain man more than a lord. Dirt had covered half his boots and clothes. She’d shivered when he’d picked her up. Even as dirty as she’d already been, she’d feared him soiling her gown.

  She touched his smooth chin and said, “I have a confession to make.”

  His gaze was lazy. “You prefer the beard.”

  She stilled. “How did you know?” She thought the beard far too manly to resist.

  “You only bicker to hear your own voice.” He grinned.

  “That’s not true.” Though she often didn’t know what else to say, especially when half the time she wanted to shout about how much she loved him and convince him to love her back.

  But she did love his beard. He’d had it when they’d met. On the few occasions that he’d held her, the hairs would scratch across her skin and send a million shivers down her spine.

  She wondered if she was why he rarely shaved, but then she knew that wasn’t so. He didn’t care what she thought. He didn’t care what anyone thought of his appearance.

  “Were you truly afraid of me when we met?” he asked.

  “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I’ve assumed it was all an act.”

  “All of it?” she asked. “For a month? No one is that good, Oliver. Surely, not me. Except for the circumstances of why I was there, everything was real.”

  He sat up suddenly and then st
ood. He moved to the door. “You were different then.” He opened it.

  “In what ways?”

  “Modest.”

  She glared.

  He shook his head. “No, I mean, you didn’t flirt with me or try and flatter me in any way. When there is no one around, you’re like… this.” He motioned to her presently.

  She understood. “Look around and tell me what else is different?”

  He did and then his eyes found her. “We’re alone.”

  “And before the eve of my wedding, when was the last time we’d been alone together?”

  He was silent. “It’s been some time.”

  He’d avoided her until recently.

  “Your home in the mountains is a very different environment than London. On your great hill, there was no one but you and me. You took care of me. I feel safe with you. Now, think of the people Cassius entertains. They’re like vultures. Any sign of weakness and they’ll attack. That reality can be worse for a woman.”

  He seemed to be thinking about it, but the secretary came in before he could say anything.

  “I see you are awake,” the woman said. “I didn’t wish to bother you, so I closed the door. Of course, no one saw you and I vow to keep this matter quiet.”

  “Thank you for being so thoughtful, Mrs. Rose,” Cassius said.

  Belle was surprised he knew her.

  Mrs. Rose smiled. “I’d have offered you beds had I known how tired you were. My husband apologizes for making the meeting hour so early. Had he been informed you’d be accompanying Lady Cebele…” The woman swallowed. “Is she your intended?”

  “No,” Oliver replied. “But she’s a special friend.”

  Belle’s chest ached. Anytime she felt herself getting close to him, he pushed her away. She knew he didn’t do it on purpose. To him, she was but a friend. It was Belle whose mind needed correcting.

  “How fortunate for her. My husband will be glad to see you.” The women looked at Belle. “Mr. Rose can see you when you’re ready.”

  Belle stood. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Rose nodded and left.

  Oliver asked, “Are you ready?”

  “You know Mr. and Mrs. Rose?”

  “I saved their daughter a few months ago.” He shrugged. “They’ve been very grateful ever since. Mrs. Rose has even extended me a lifetime invitation to dinner. I have taken her up on that offer on many occasions. Are you ready to meet Mr. Rose?”

  Belle met him at the door. “How did you save her daughter?”

  “She was choking in the park. I slapped her on the back. The marzipan flew right out.” He made it sound as though it were no big deal. “Others tried to help but were too gentle. What the girl needed was a firm hand.”

  “You’re a hero.” Oliver hadn’t had to step in, but he did. “I’m sure they’re very grateful to you.”

  “They are.”

  “How old is their little girl?” she asked.

  “Twenty-two.”

  Twenty-two? So she wasn’t little then.

  “Is she wed?” Belle asked.

  “No.”

  A burning sensation began in her chest. She wanted to ask him if their twenty-two-year-old daughter attended the dinners Oliver frequented but held her tongue.

  It was no wonder he hadn’t been afraid to sleep on their couch. He trusted these people. They were like family, or rather, they very much wanted him to be family.

  “I’m ready,” she declared. She pretended not to see the arm he offered as she passed him. The last thing she needed to be doing was touching any part of Oliver. She needed to get control of herself.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 5

  * * *

  Had Oliver not known Belle better, he’d have thought her jealous. She said nothing on the way to Mr. Rose’s office. She didn’t look at him either, which was good.

  He’d enjoyed her looking at and touching him far too much. He’d only moved away because he’d grown hard.

  If there was anything Oliver enjoyed more than solving a problem, it was sleep.

  He hadn’t slept that well in a while. Belle was soft and she smelled good. He never cared for her heavier fragrances. In her sleepy state this morning, she must have forgotten to cover herself in the concoctions. On the couch, every time he breathed in, he became full of her.

  When he’d cupped the back of her head, he’d debated on laying her on his chest or bringing her mouth down to his.

  Kissing her felt as natural as laughing. When they were alone, everything became real. The world grew quiet and his senses were heightened. He liked few things as much as he liked walking around his land. Being with Belle brought about that same feeling of peace.

  Yet there was a nagging sensation in him as well, as though something was… off. Their relationship wasn’t broken. It just needed… He didn’t know what it needed.

  Completion?

  He wondered if she’d be opposed to another kiss.

  But friends couldn’t share kisses, could they?

  He thought not, especially considering he planned to find her a husband.

  He shouldn’t forget about that, though he had.

  He could think of nothing but kissing her as he greeted Mr. Rose and watched the solicitor as he spoke to Bell.

  Oliver hardly paid attention. What they said was none of his business, really. He moved to the window to see if Remy’s men were still guarding each exit. He’d had soldiers assigned to Belle, but she wasn’t supposed to know.

  He’d decided to keep it from her and avoid an argument. He’d take her annoyances any day over not having her at all.

  There was still a price on Belle’s head. Their men had found nothing, but Noel was working with the children on the street to learn what he could.

  Noel was impressing him, and he was looking forward to having the young men on the mountain once this ordeal with Belle was over.

  When he realized how quiet the room was, he turned and saw Belle staring down at a letter. The contents didn’t seem to please her.

  He moved close, and she folded it away before she stood.

  “Thank you, Mr. Rose.” She smiled at the solicitor.

  “Do return if there is anything you need,” the solicitor said. He turned to Oliver. “Will you be joining us this evening for dinner, my lord?”

  Oliver looked at Belle. He’d have usually told Mr. Rose yes, but something was wrong. Though Belle’s expression wasn’t sad, it wasn’t happy either. “Not tonight. Perhaps another time.”

  They said goodbye and left.

  Oliver walked Belle to her carriage where Shepard stood. Oliver had told the footman to stay back once they’d arrived at the office.

  “Thank you again for coming.” Belle kept her face averted and took Shepard’s hand as she climbed into the carriage.

  Oliver placed a hand on her free arm, stopping her. “Let’s walk.”

  She looked up at him. Sadness crept into her eyes, but only Oliver could see it. She kept her back to Shepard. Others were not allowed to see her weakness. “No thank you.”

  He let her go and then climbed in after her.

  “What’s in the note?” he asked once they were away.

  She sighed and didn’t look at him. “Nothing but cruelty. Dunst had prepared it for me the moment he knew I’d become his wife. Apparently, he told Mr. Rose to give it to me on the occasion he should be declared dead or simply missing.” There was anger but heavy sorrow in her voice.

  “May I see it?”

  She looked at him and shook her head. “Please.”

  He didn’t ask again. If she decided she didn’t want to share it, then she could keep the contents to herself. He could only imagine what Dunst wrote and perhaps it was best he didn’t see it. He didn’t need another reason to put a dagger in the man’s chest.

  His body ached as though it could mimic her pain. He wished he could take it from her. Belle had suffered enough. Where was her happiness?

  He silently pr
ayed for a day where there would be nothing but smiles on her face...

  She didn’t say anything else until she got home.

  On the sidewalk, she asked, “Will you come inside?” Her brown eyes were wide with hope. He watched her throat work as though she fought to keep her tears down.

  Shepard arrived with his horse.

  “Go home,” Oliver told him. “I’ll send for you when you should return.”

  Shepard left without a word.

  Oliver followed Belle into her house.

  In five years, he’d never been inside it. Not once. He’d attended the routs she’d given on behalf of Cassius and his organization but never any of her personal affairs. He hadn’t wanted to see any part of it. He’d never wanted to know what took place behind the walls.

  It was a handsome house. The decor was extravagant yet inviting. He took everything in as she led him to the drawing-room.

  “Tea?” she asked.

  “No.” He wouldn’t stay long.

  She sat on the couch and stared down at the letter in her hand. “I don’t know what I was expecting.” She looked up and smiled at him with tears in her eyes. “Maybe an apology? Or something to say his acts weren’t personal. I didn’t know he hated me.”

  He crossed the room and sat by her. He cupped her chin and placed his thumb over her lips. “You say another word and I’ll kill him.”

  She moved his hand away and climbed onto his lap.

  Her mouth covered his and good intentions vanished.

  Any gallantry he possessed was set aside for far more basic urges. The gentleman crumbled and gave way to the beast within.

  She was so perfect. Her scent. Her feel. The softness of her mouth and the pitch of her moans were heaven. Belle’s writhing put spots in his vision and made him hard. He tried to gentle his touch. He was so aroused he could feel his mind spilling.

  He didn’t want to break her.

  But what was the point in lying to himself?

  Belle was breaking him. Her motions begged him for more. Her every gasp asked to be taken to a place where pain was drowned out by pleasure.